


There's Something About Jack

by manypastfrustrations



Series: Immortal Boyfriends [1]
Category: Forever (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Antique-related flirting, Character Death, M/M, Serious Injuries, Terrorism, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manypastfrustrations/pseuds/manypastfrustrations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a customer arrives at Abe's shop, Henry finds him strangely familiar. But as they become close, a mystery is revealed: who is Jack Harkness? And can Henry trust him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The customer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of things to establish this story before it begins: first, Lucas already knows about Henry's immortality, but he's the only one. This is going partly by the second season "canon", as Matt Miller has said that Lucas would have been the first to find out, so here he already knows. Just so it doesn't get too confusing.  
> Also, and more importantly, this is a warning that this story carries with it a trigger warning for terrorism, and terrorist-related explosions, which could be especially upsetting due to current events. It doesn't happen for another few chapters, but be warned, and if you think that sort of thing is likely to upset you then perhaps it might be best to skip this story for now. Otherwise, please read on, and I hope you enjoy the story!

“Is that everything?” Abe asked, as he finished wrapping the last item.

The customer in front of him grinned, glancing at the pile of gift-wrapped antiques on the counter. “I think that’ll be enough for today,” he chuckled, reaching for his wallet. “Now, how much do I owe you?”

When Abe told him the price, the customer raised his eyebrows, but began to count out the money anyway. He was placing the final note on the counter when the antique shop door opened and closed behind him, the bell above jangling away.

Abe glanced over the customer’s shoulder to see who it was, and smiled. “Henry,” he said by way of greeting. “Come and meet the man who’s going to feed us for the next month.”

Henry walked over to the counter, unravelling his scarf and patting off the snow as he did so. He surveyed the customer’s sizable pile of purchases, then raised an eyebrow at Abe, who grinned in response.

The customer was putting his wallet back in his coat pocket when Abe said, “This is my business partner, Henry. Henry, this is…I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

The customer turned to Henry, grinning. He locked eyes with Henry, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. “Harkness,” he said, holding out a hand for Henry to shake. “Jack Harkness.”

Henry had frozen for a moment, but recovered after a moment. He held out his hand also, only to realise that he was still holding his scarf. “Sorry,” he apologised, quickly switching it to the other hand. “I’m Henry,” he said, taking Jack’s hand. He had a firm grip, Henry noticed. “Henry Morgan.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jack’s smile was almost blindingly bright.

“Likewise.”

Jack turned back to Abe. “Do you know when the other items I ordered will arrive?”

Abe had been frowning at the exchange between Jack and Henry, but his face quickly cleared. “Some time in the next week,” he told him. “I’ll give you a call when they arrive, so you know when to pick them up. We’re open all day long, Sunday to Monday.”

“Great.” Jack turned to his pile of purchases, and sighed. “You know,” he remarked, “when I bought these, I may not have exactly been thinking of how to transport them to my car.”

“We’ll help you,” Henry volunteered, stepping forwards.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Henry and Abe managed between them to pile all the antiques into Jack’s arms, in such a way that nothing would fall off. “Thank you,” Jack said, making his careful way towards the shop door, which Henry jumped forward to open for him.

Jack stepped out onto the sidewalk, then turned back to the shop, barely visible over a porcelain doll. “Christmas shopping, huh?” he said with a chuckle, before staggering off to his car a few yards away.

As soon as he was gone, Abe closed the door and turned to Henry. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Henry said, wrapping his now-dry scarf loosely around his neck and heading towards the back of the shop.

Abe quickly followed him, darting in front of Henry just before he reached the stairs. “Nuh-uh. I saw you, Henry. You froze, and you had that _look_ in your eye.”

“For the last time, I do not have a _look_ , Abraham,” Henry said dismissively, walking around Abe and up the stairs.

“You do so have a _look_ ,” Abe argued, following his father up to their flat. “That far-away one you get when you’re remembering something. Go on, what was it?”

Henry sighed, taking off his heavy coat and hanging it on the coat-stand. “Nothing.” A pause, then he continued: “It’s just that…I thought I recognised that customer, from a long time ago. And his name was familiar. Very familiar.”

* * *

_“Harkness,” the man had said, with an outstretched hand and a twinkle in his eye. “Captain Jack Harkness.”_

_“Doctor Henry Morgan,” Henry had replied, with a courteous smile._

_“Pleasure to meet you,” Jack had said, his words accompanied by a wink. “Sure is busy tonight,” he said, glancing around at their surroundings._

_They were in a small club, filled with soldiers about to leave to do their duty for their country. Most were on the dance floor, dancing by themselves, or with their wives and girlfriends for the last time. Some men were sitting at the tables against the walls, either watching the dancers, to staring into their drinks and contemplating their imminent departure. Slow jazz music floated through the air from the string quarter, to where Henry and Jack stood off to one side, mostly concealed from view by a pillar. A vase sat upon an ornamental plinth beside them, holding brightly-coloured flowers and fern leaves, one of which was leaning drunkenly onto Henry’s head._

_Henry looked around also, and nodded. “This is the busiest this place has been since I have been in London,” he agreed._

_“You’re a doctor, right?” Jack asked, looking Henry’s uniform up and down._

_“Correct,” Henry told him. “And you are in the RAF?”_

_“Correct,” Jack said, mimicking Henry’s clipped British tones. He grinned, then in his normal voice asked, “So how long’ve you been here for?”_

_“Not long,” Henry told him. “Barely more than a week. And yourself?”_

_“About the same,” Jack said. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before now, although I’m sure I’d remember a face like yours.”_

_Henry smiled. “And I yours,” he agreed. “Are you here with anyone tonight, Captain Harkness?”_

_He shook his head. “Just me tonight. How about you? You got a dame here somewhere?”_

_“I’m afraid not,” Henry said. He glanced around to make sure nobody was listening, then cautiously said, “I haven’t in quite a while, actually.”_

_Jack raised an eyebrow, a grin slowly growing on his face. “Really?” He had just opened his mouth to say something else when he spotted someone behind Henry, and abruptly fell silent._

_Henry felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around quickly, unsettling the fern atop his head in the process._

_“Morgan!” said the owner of the hand loudly, another surgeon from Henry’s unit. “Why are you hiding back here, man? Come and enjoy the-” He stopped abruptly, noticing something. “Henry,” he said, slurring his words only slightly, “you appear to have a plant on your face.”_

_Henry raised a hand and brushed the fern away. “I was aware,” he said. “I was introducing myself to this gentleman here. Captain Jack Harkness, this is a…friend of mine, Doctor Stephen Gates.”_

_Jack noticed the pause in Henry’s sentence, and raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” he said, nodding towards the newcomer._

_“I will be there in a moment,” Henry told William, who nodded and headed unsteadily off towards the dance floor once again. “I do apologise,” Henry said, turning back towards Jack. “He is an excellent surgeon, although I’m afraid he has a tendency to drink rather more than he should, especially being a medical man. He is no friend of mine.”_

_“Yeah, I got that impression,” Jack said. “Well, I suppose you will have to go soon, right?”_

_“I believe so,” Henry said regretfully, glancing over to where William was standing on the dance floor. He seemed to be arguing with the band, although Henry couldn’t hear what was being said. He turned his attention back to Jack. “Well, Captain,” he said, extending his hand once again, “it has been a pleasure meeting you.”_

_“Believe me,” Jack said, taking Henry’s hand in a firm handshake, “the pleasure was all mine.”_

_Henry was about to pull away when suddenly Jack’s grip tightened. Henry glanced down at their hands, then quizzically up at Jack’s face. He raised an eyebrow._

_Jack leaned in. “I’m going to be going outside for a smoke in about quarter of an hour,” he muttered, his face inches away from Henry’s. “There’s an alley out back that’s nice and quiet, if you know what I mean. Perfect for people who don’t want to be disturbed.”_

_Henry blinked, staring at Jack. His eyes were very blue, Henry noticed, more so than he had previously recognised; and the hand holding his was very warm. He swallowed, nodded, and said, “I see.”_

_“Great,” Jack said, releasing Henry’s hand and stepping backward. He nodded towards the dance floor. “I think your friend is calling you.”_

_Henry looked over to see that sure enough, William was waving his arms in Henry’s general direction, shouting something that could not be heard over the loud music. “He is not my-” he began to say, turning back around, but there was no one there._

_Confused, Henry looked around the room. It was difficult to recognise anyone in the room, filled as it was with people; but when he looked closely, Henry could just see a long blue coat disappearing around a pillar across the room._

_Henry shook his head, chuckling to himself. He glanced at the clock above the large fireplace, making a mental note of the time before walking across to where William was arguing with the string quartet._

_In the end, despite Henry’s best efforts to calm him down, William threw a punch in the vague direction of the violin player, which led to a brief scuffle before he was escorted out by the security guards. Henry quietly stood back and watched, managing to refrain from applauding with the rest of the dancers as William was dragged away from the dance floor, spluttering and punching wildly at the air._

_The band started up their music once again, and Henry looked to the clock above the fireplace, noticing to his consternation that eighteen minutes had passed since Jack had disappeared. Looking around to make sure nobody was watching him, Henry quietly stepped back behind a pillar and melted into the shadows around the edges of the room, making his careful way around the perimeter until he reached the place he had last seen Jack’s coat. A nondescript door was set into the wall, which Henry approached, glancing behind him once more before turning the handle._

_To his pleasant surprise, the door was unlocked. Henry stepped through into the cool air outside, and quickly closed it behind him before anybody could notice the draught._

_Henry looked up and down the alley, but could see nobody. He frowned. Had Jack really left after only three minutes? Or had Henry completely misread the situation?_

_After a moment, though, a figure stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the alley, several feet down. “I thought you’d changed your mind,” Jack drawled, flicking a cigarette onto the ground and squashing it under his shoe. His voice was quiet, but the words carried easily through the crisp night air._

_Henry let out a relieved sigh. “I was waylaid,” he said apologetically, walking down the steel steps onto the cobbled lane below. “My friend got into a fight.”_

_“I thought he wasn’t your friend,” Jack said, walking towards Henry._

_“He isn’t.”_

_“I told you.” Jack stopped walking barely a foot from Henry. He looked Henry’s uniform up and down again, although, Henry realised, it wasn’t the clothes he was focusing on. “So, Doctor Morgan,” he said, looking back up into Henry’s eyes._

_Henry swallowed, staring back into Jack’s shining blue eyes, and taking an unconscious step towards him. “Yes?”_

_Jack took a step towards Henry, so their faces were barely two inches from each other. “It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the shape of Henry’s jawline._

_“There’s only two of us here,” Henry pointed out quietly, his gaze coming to rest on Jack’s mouth._

_“Yes, but all the same, don’t you think we should go somewhere more private?”_

_Henry moved his gaze back up to Jack’s eyes. “Absolutely,” he said softly._

* * *

Abe held up a hand. “That’s enough,” he said quickly. “I think I can guess the rest.”

Henry blinked, abruptly pulled out of his reverie. He noticed that he was still standing at the top of the stairs, holding his scarf in his hands. After a moment, Henry realised that Abe was standing in front of him, staring at Henry bemusedly.

He frowned. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” Abe told him. “All of it.”

“Oh dear,” Henry said. “I do apologise. I’m afraid I got a little…carried away.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Abe said. He was standing on the second-to-last stair, not wanting to leave the shop completely unattended. He shook his head, trying to clear the images from his mind. “The man you saw today, could he be a son, maybe?”

Henry shook his head. “Far too young. This was seventy years ago, remember.”

“Grandson?”

“Perhaps,” Henry said, “although it is unlikely that he would look so similar. They might as well have been identical!”

At that very moment, unbeknownst to Henry or Abe, those same words were being repeated by the man in question, at a small bar not two blocks away from Abe’s Antiques. “They may as well have been identical,” Jack Harkness said, taking the drink the bartender held out to him.

The bartender leaned on the bar, wiping up a small spillage with his towel. “Who may as well have been identical?” he asked, feigning interest. He knew from experience that if he kept guys talking, then they kept paying.

“Just a man I saw today.” Jack took a large drink, and shuddered as it burned its way down his throat. “He looked exactly like someone I used to know.”

“Maybe it’s the same person,” the bartender suggested.

Jack shook his head, downing the rest of the glass and setting it heavily down on the bar. “Not a chance,” he said glumly, signalling to the bartender to get him another drink. “This guy was too young.”

“Couldn’t your memory have gotten a little skewed?” Abe asked Henry, leaning on the banister with interest. “I mean, no offence, but it has been a long time since you met him. I can’t remember things that happened that long ago. Thankfully,” he added after a moment’s pause.

Henry raised an eyebrow at his son. “There is no reason why you would be able to remember that far back, Abraham,” he reminded him. “People do not usually retain memories before the age of…”

“Four or five, yeah, I know,” Abe interjected. “You’ve told me enough times before. But it was seventy years ago, Henry! I’m just saying that it’s possible that you met some tall, dark, handsome stranger a long time ago, then you saw someone else who looked similar today, and got them confused. That’s all.”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said, in response to the bartender’s same comment. “I have a very good memory. And he had the same name.”

“So let me get this straight,” the bartender said. “You met someone who looks like a person you know seventy years ago?”

Jack nodded, staring gloomily into his drink.

The bartender sighed, and raised an eyebrow at the only other person in the bar, a regular by the name of Dave who spent most of his waking moments in the establishment. Dave nodded, knowing what that eyebrow meant. They were used to crazy drunks in the bar, but often not this early in the day, and they weren’t usually _this_ crazy.

The bartender sighed, watching as Jack signalled for another drink. “Well, if you met him that long ago, and they have the same name,” he said logically, filling Jack’s glass two-thirds of the way full, “perhaps the guy you met today is a relative? Son, grandson, something like that.”

Jack sighed. “Perhaps,” he said glumly, “although it’s unlikely. The guy I met didn’t exactly seem to be looking for female company, if you know what I mean.”

There were a few moments of silence, then Jack sighed. “I’ve gotta go back and see him,” he said suddenly. “Find out who he is.”

The other two men watched as Jack downed his third drink in one go, then dug into his pocket to pay the bartender before standing up and walking out. He seemed to be walking steadily, which was unusual for someone who had had so much alcohol in such a short space of time.

“Well, that was weird,” Dave commented, turning his attention back to the drink he was nursing.

“Yeah,” the bartender muttered, still staring after Jack. “Very weird.”

* * *

Henry sat on the sofa, holding his favourite novel in his hands, although his mind was far from the story. Instead, he was staring into the fire, crackling cosily in the grate. There was something hypnotic about watching the flames, and Henry found his mind relaxing, casting itself back to the time seventy years earlier, the night before his unit was moved out of London.

A sudden clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen made Henry jump, and brought him back to the present.

Abe poked his head through the doorway. “Sorry,” he said, “they just jumped out of the cupboard onto the floor.”

Henry was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He and Abe looked at the doorway, then at each other.

“I would go,” Abe said, “but I’m cooking.” He held up an oven-mitt-encased hand as evidence.

“Are you sure?” Henry asked, standing up and heading for the stairs. “It sounded more like you were dropping things.”

“It’s all part of the preparation, Henry,” Abe said seriously. “I have to get into the zone. And that zone includes dropping the pans.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

Henry made his way down the stairs, chuckling to himself. He was halfway through the dark shop downstairs when he realised who was standing at the door. His stride faltered for merely a moment before he caught himself, and continued his journey to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing the full figure of Jack Harkness, standing on the pavement outside. “Mr Harkness,” he said by way of greeting, trying to appear only mildly surprised.

“Hi,” Jack said apologetically. “It’s Doctor Morgan, isn’t it?”

“Please, call me Henry.” He noticed that it was drizzling outside, and that Jack was getting wet. “Won’t you come inside?” he offered, standing to the side and opening to the door wider.

“Thanks, that’s very kind,” Jack said, walking inside and looking around at the empty shop, half-lit through the windows by the dull evening light. He shook his wet hair away from his face, smiled awkwardly, and said, “I’m so sorry, but I think I left my cell phone in this shop when I was here earlier. You haven’t seen it anywhere, have you?”

“I don’t recall seeing a mobile phone,” Henry said, “but I cannot be certain. We could take a look around if you like?”

“It’s kind of you to offer,” Jack said, “but now I think about it, I probably left my phone in my car.”

“Well, I hope you find it,” Henry said politely.

“Me too,” Jack grinned. He turned towards the door to leave, but stopped, looking back at Henry. He frowned. “Say, have I met you before somewhere?” he asked casually. “You seem kind of…familiar.”

“I don’t think so,” Henry lied smoothly. “I’m sure I’d remember a face like yours.”

Jack barked out a laugh. “Well, thanks for your help.” He turned to go.

Henry watched him walk towards the door and open it, about to step outside. “Mr Harkness,” he said suddenly.

“Jack,” he said, turning around, one hand holding the door open. “Call me Jack.”

“Certainly,” Henry said. “Jack, what if I were to give you my telephone number, so that if and when you find your mobile phone, I will know to stop looking? That is to say,” he added, suddenly nervous, “if you do not mind.”

A smile slowly grew on Jack’s face. “Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I find it.”

Henry let out a silent sigh of relief. “Excellent.” He walked the few steps to the counter and grabbed a pen and notepad, quickly writing out the ten digits of his telephone number and signing his name with a flourish. He walked back over to the door where Jack was still standing, and proffered the small piece of paper.

Jack took it and glanced at it, raising his eyebrows. “You have nice handwriting,” he commented, glancing back up at Henry. “Well, I’ll let you know,” he said, folding the paper carefully and placing it in his pocket. “I’ll talk to you later sometime.”

“I look forward to it.” Henry watched as Jack closed the door behind him and made his way back down the street, shoulders hunched against the light rain. Henry smiled to himself and turned away, making his way back upstairs.

“Who was it?” Abe called from the kitchen when he heard Henry at the top of the stairs.

“Nobody,” Henry said, walking through into the living room and sitting down again. “Wrong number.”

“That’s for phone calls,” Abe pointed out; but Henry did not hear him, once again staring at the page of his book but taking nothing in, instead thinking once more about the mystery of Captain Jack Harkness.

Receiving no response, Abe sighed, and went back to clattering around with the pans. It wasn’t unlike Henry to lose himself in thought: he could frequently be found with his eyes glazed over, remembering some event far in the past. Usually it stayed in his head, although occasionally he would talk out loud, like her had earlier that evening. Well, Abe thought, Henry had better be in the here and now for dinner, or Abe was never going to make his famous chicken soup again.

By this time, Jack was almost two blocks away from Abe’s Antiques. He glanced around out of habit, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He went into his contacts and quickly plugged Henry’s number into his phone, then opened up the Internet and went to a search website. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed in three words: ‘Doctor Henry Morgan’.


	2. Not very subtle at all

Two days later, Henry was in the morgue, his hands buried inside the chest of a stab victim, when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Not the best time,” he muttered, endeavouring to ignore his phone and focus on the body in front of him.

Lucas looked up from the victim’s scan results he was examining. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” Henry said. “Any abnormalities in the results?”

“There’s nothing here, Doc,” Lucas said, walking around to stand next to Henry and peering into the body. “Seems like a perfectly normal stabbing attack.”

“How boring,” Henry muttered.

At that moment, Henry’s phone began to buzz again. This time, Lucas must have heard it as well, because he asked, “Hey, isn’t that your phone?”

Henry sighed again. “Quite possibly.”

“What happened to your rule about no phones in the lab?”

“I was…expecting a call,” Henry muttered. He refused to look Lucas in the eye, instead concentrating solely on the puncture wound in the victim’s lung.

“I’ll take it for you,” Lucas offered. Before Henry could say a word, Lucas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his buzzing phone, answering it. “Y’ello?”

Lucas listened for a moment. “Yeah, Henry’s here. He’s a bit busy right now, this is his lab assistant speaking. Can I take a message?” Another pause, this time for longer, and then he said, “All right, I’ll let him know. Thanks for calling!”

Lucas rang off and put the phone back in Henry’s pocket, not noticing Henry’s strained expression. “It was a Captain someone for you,” he said, picking up the scan results once more. “Said he’s found his phone, and he wants you to call him back when you’re not busy. I’ll go file these,” he said, waving the results in the air as he walked out of the room.

Henry rolled his eyes and went back to work, determined not to think about the phone in his pocket.

He finished the autopsy as quickly as possible, and removed his lab coat and rubber gloves, making his way into his office to write up the autopsy report. Henry was halfway through when he remembered how Lucas had said to call the ‘Captain someone’ back when he was not busy. Glancing around, he realised that it had been the last autopsy of the day, and there was still some time left in his shift. Surely it would not matter if he were to take five minutes or so off, just to reply to a call? After all, there would be plenty of time to finish the report later on.

Quickly, Henry pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled the last number to have called him. He raised the phone to his ear, crossing his fingers as he heard it ring on the other end of the line. As he listened, a list of possibilities ran through his head. What if Jack was busy now? What if he had just called to let Henry know that his phone had returned, and nothing else? What if…

“Hello?”

Henry jumped at the sudden familiar voice, issuing from the phone. “Hello,” he said. “Henry Morgan here. I believe you called earlier?”

“That I did,” Jack said. Henry could hear in his voice that he was grinning. “How are you doing?”

“I am well, thank you, and yourself?” _Too formal_ , Henry told himself, momentarily cursing his Britishness.

“I am also well,” Jack replied, mimicking Henry’s tone. He chuckled. “Just wanted to let you know that I did find my phone in the end.”

“I gathered that,” Henry said dryly, “from the fact that you managed to call me from it.”

“Exactly,” Jack said. There was a pause, then he said, “You have a lab assistant?”

Henry smiled. “That’s Lucas,” he said. “He’s my assistant M.E.”

“You’re a Medical Examiner? What, like a pathologist? Sounds like a cheerful job.”

“It has its moments,” Henry told him.

“Really?” Another pause, then Jack said, “You know, that actually sounds interesting. Tell you what, how about I buy you a drink this evening, and you can tell me all about it?”

Henry raised an eyebrow, before remembering that Jack could not see him. “You want to hear about me doing autopsies on dead people all day?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to hear about you doing autopsies on living people.”

Henry laughed at that. “You know, Mr Harkness, you don’t need to think up an excuse to ask me out for a drink.”

Suddenly, there was a cough from the direction of the door. Henry jumped, looking up to see Lucas standing in the doorway to his office. His posture was awkward, arms folded behind his back; but his face was excited, split into a wide smile. He was staring at Henry as if he could not believe what he had heard.

“Excuse me a moment,” Henry said into the phone, before placing it on the desk in front of him. He folded his hands and looked sternly at Lucas. “Can I help you?”

His attempt at being intimidating to avoid questions did not work, it seemed, as Lucas’ smile grew even larger. “You have a date,” he said, although it was difficult to tell whether it was a question or a statement.

Probably both, Henry decided. “Is that what you came to see me about?” he asked stiffly.

Lucas shook his head, suddenly remembering. “No, uh, I was going to ask if you wanted to come out for a drink after work. The detectives and me, we’re going to go to that place around the corner. They told me to ask if you were gonna come with, but it sounds like you’re busy tonight.”

Henry managed to supress the urge to roll his eyes. “The detectives and _I_ ,” he corrected Lucas, “and I am afraid I will have to decline. I have something important to work on tonight.”

“So I heard,” Lucas winked, and disappeared before Henry had the chance to glare at him again.

Henry waited to make sure he was gone, before taking a breath and raising the phone to his ear once more. “I’d love to go,” he said without preamble.

There was a pause, then Jack said, “Really? Sounded like you were busy doing something tonight.”

“I was talking about you,” Henry explained. “I declined going out with my colleagues, because I wanted to do you. I mean,” he added hastily, when he heard Jack begin to laugh, “I wanted to go out with you.” His face turned bright red, and he was glad that there had been nobody else around to witness his faux pas.

It took a few seconds for Jack to stop laughing. “All right,” he said finally. “I can pick you up at five, if you like. Where do you work?”

Henry gave him the address, and they exchanged pleasantries before hanging up. As Henry placed the phone back in his pocket, he couldn’t help a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that something was wrong about the situation. It wasn’t just that Jack looked similar to someone he had known a long time ago: he had seen people before who reminded him of others from long ago, many times over. No, what bothered him was the fact that this man not only had the same face as the former, but also the same name: Jack Harkness. Jack was a common enough name, certainly; but ‘Harkness’ was hardly Smith. Abe’s descendant theory could explain the identical surname, but was it really possible that two people, born so far apart in time, could have the same face?

Henry would have to do some research, that much was certain. But first, he had a date to attend.

* * *

“Are you  _sure_ Henry said that?” Jo asked Lucas.

“One hundred percent certain,” Lucas assured her, handing her a drink, and placing one in front of himself. “I thought I’d heard wrong as well, but then he got really defensive. It’s always a sure sign that someone’s lying, you know.”

The two detectives at the table exchanged glances. “So I’d heard,” Mike said, leaning forward. “And he _definitely_ said ‘Mr’?”

“I know what I heard,” Lucas told him.

“And why were you spying on Henry again?”

“I was not spying,” Lucas said indignantly. “I just happened to overhear his conversation, that’s all. I didn’t mean to!”

Mike settled back in his chair. “I still don’t believe it,” he said. “I’m sorry, Lucas, but you must have heard wrong. That, or he was joking. Henry does know how to joke, right?”

Lucas spotted something behind Mike, and a smile grew slowly on his face. “Well,” he said, “why don’t you ask him yourself?” He pointed to the door, and Mike turned around to see Henry walking into the bar, followed by a man he did not recognise. He was a bit taller than Henry, and they were both wearing long coats, although the new guy’s one looked like one of those old-fashioned military suits.

Before he could notice anything else, Jo pushed him on the shoulder. “Be more subtle!” she hissed. “We don’t want it to look like we’re gawping at Henry.”

“We _are_ gawping at Henry,” Mike muttered, but he turned around anyway, facing the table again. From where they were sitting, Henry and the other guy were behind Mike, but Jo and Lucas could watch them side-on, which they were doing. “Why do I always miss out on the good stuff?” he muttered.

“Shhhh,” Jo told him. “I’m trying to concentrate.” She watched as Henry and the other man moved through the room towards the bar, and ordered their drinks. Now they were behind Lucas as well, making Jo the only one who could see them clearly. “They’ve ordered their drinks,” she told them, “and they’re talking to each other while they’re waiting.”

“What are they talking about?” Lucas asked eagerly.

Jo squinted at Henry, who was leaning on the counter, laughing at something the other man had said. His posture was more relaxed than usual, she noticed. “It’s difficult to tell,” she said, “although he seems happy.”

“Yeah, nice and happy and gay,” Mike muttered.

Jo swatted his arm, motioning for him to be quiet. “Ooh, they’ve got their drinks now,” she said. “They’re moving to a table…wait, I lost them.”

“What?” Lucas demanded. “Which way did they go?”

“Around to the left,” Jo said, her eyes scanning the room full of people.

Suddenly, Mike saw Henry and the other guy walk into his field of vision. “Hang on, I got eyes on them,” he said. He watched as they looked around at the few free tables, and selected one directly across from him. Mike grinned, realising that he was the only one who would be able to see them without looking suspicious.

“Well? What are they doing?” Jo asked, craning her head around to look.

“Be more subtle,” Mike said, “we don’t want to look like we’re gawping at him.”

Jo’s head whipped back around to give him a withering glare.

“What?” he said. “It’s true.”

“So, what are they doing?” Lucas asked.

Mike frowned towards Henry and the other guy. “Nothing,” he said. “They’re just talking.”

A few tables away, Jack was laughing. “So what happened next?”

“Well, after we managed to get Lucas out of the fridge unit, he had to be looked over by a medical professional. Luckily, I was on hand.”

“And you were fine with that, after he hid in there to scare you?”

“Well,” Henry admitted, “I may have convinced him that he would need a sizable injection, to counter the effects of the bacteria found in dead bodies. He believed me, but only for a few minutes.”

Jack wiped his eyes. “Well,” he said, “you weren’t wrong when you said working in a morgue has its moments.” He took a sip of his drink, then said, “So I guess you must know a lot about death, huh?”

“A fair bit,” Henry said, this time more cautiously. “One picks things up now and again, working as an M.E., not to mention as a gravedigger before that.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “A gravedigger? You are full of surprises, Henry.”

He smiled modestly. “I try.”

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you a question about death?”

Henry paused for a moment. “By all means,” he said hesitantly.

Jack didn’t seem to notice his wariness as he asked, “Do you think there’s anything after death? An afterlife, anything like that?”

Henry let out a silent sigh of relief. He considered the question, pursing his lips. He had been asked the question before, of course, usually by family and friends of the deceased, although never on a date. Henry thought about the times between his various deaths and revivals –he had timed it before, and had worked out that there was often a gap between his body disappearing and reappearing; but he was never able to remember the time between death and life, nor did he logically think there was anything there to remember. As much as he would have liked for there to be some sort of heaven or afterlife for those he had lost, ultimately Henry was not convinced that anything existed after death.

Of course, he did not tell Jack any of this, instead simply saying, “It would impossible to know without dying. And unless it were possible to come back from the dead, nobody is able to report back to the living.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.” He seemed slightly upset, although Henry was not sure whether it was at him or at what he had said.

After a second, Jack’s expression cleared, and he flashed Henry a grin. “So, Doctor Morgan,” he said, “where do you come from? I’d guess from your accent you’re not from around these parts.”

“You would guess correctly,” Henry said. “I was born in Wales, actually, although I was raised in the south of England.”

“Wales, huh?” Jack said. “I’ve spent some time there myself, actually.”

“Have you?” Henry said. “Through work or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” he said, and winked at Henry. Suddenly, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked around the bar before leaning towards Henry. “I don’t want to alarm you,” he said quietly, “but there’s a table of three people watching us.”

Henry leaned forward also, suddenly on guard. “Where are they?” he murmured.

“Directly to your left, a few tables away.”

Henry subtly turned his head to look at the place Jack had described, masking the movement by scratching at his temple. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened, and he turned back to Jack. “I know them,” he muttered. “I work with them.”

Jack frowned. “You don’t seem too happy to see them,” he noted.

Henry pursed his lips, working out how to word his next sentence. “They are not aware of my, er…”

“Sexuality?” Jack offered.

“I was going to say ‘proclivities’, but that works just as well,” Henry said. “I was going to tell them, but unfortunately never got around to actually doing it.”

Jack drew back, leaning against the back of his chair. “I understand,” he told Henry. “We can be a couple of friends having a drink, if you like.”

Henry smiled, leaning back also. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“It’s fine.” Jack glanced back at Lucas, Jo, and Mike’s table, and grinned. “They’re not very subtle about watching us, are they?” he observed.

Henry raised an eyebrow. “That is surprising, seeing that two of them are detectives.” He also glanced over at the other table, catching Jo’s eye. She went red, and quickly hid her face in her drink, pretending not to have noticed him looking at her. Henry grinned in spite of himself. “You’re right,” he told Jack, “not very subtle at all.”


	3. Operation Investigate Henry's Boyfriend

It was late when Henry crept up the stairs to his apartment, although he did not know the time for certain. He cursed inwardly when he reached the creaky step, pausing for a second and praying that the sound would not be enough to wake Abe, before continuing his journey up the stairs and into the apartment.

When he reached the landing, Henry slipped off his coat and hung it on the coat-stand, then made his way through to the living room. He noticed the curtains were still open, and he moved across the room to close them, pausing for a moment to admire the city beyond.

“And what time do you call this?”

Henry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice behind him. He froze, then turned around guiltily to face Abe, who was sitting on the sofa, holding a book in his lap as he watched Henry. “Good evening, Abraham,” he said.

“Technically, it’s morning,” Abe pointed out, nodding towards the clock on the mantelpiece. He closed his book with a _snap_ , and stood up. “You said you would only be a couple of hours,” he told Henry.

“I’m sorry,” Henry told him, trying not to sway too much where he stood. “I meant to leave earlier than I did, but I’m afraid we rather lost track of time.”

“Well, I was worried about you.” Abe’s expression was inscrutable, his voice flat.

“I do apologise. Although,” Henry said, “I thought it was supposed to be the father who was worried about the son staying out late at night?” He did stumble, then, but managed to catch himself before landing flat on his face.

Abe narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk, Henry?”

“No,” Henry said unconvincingly.

Abe rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t mind you going out on a date with this ghost from your past,” he told Henry. “Just make sure that next time, you get back when you say you’re going to get back, yeah? You’re right, Henry, I’m not supposed to be worrying about you, but I do.”

Henry lowered his head. “I know,” he told his son. “I remember sitting up late many nights when you were a teenager, worrying about where you were. I’m sorry, I should have called. Next time, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Abe said, but his tone was softer. “I’m going to bed now. If you’re lucky, I’ll make you some of my magic hangover remedy in the morning.” He turned and left the room without another word.

Watching him go, Henry allowed himself a smile. Then he made his way to his own bedroom, stumbling only once on the way, a feat of he was particularly proud.

Henry was greeted the next morning by a crippling headache, and a glass of green sludge on his bedside table. He smiled to himself, realising that Abe had made good on his promise to make his hangover remedy. Then he sat up, and abruptly stopped smiling, placing a hand to his head with a low groan.

He grimaced, and took a tentative sip of the drink, trying not to breathe in too much as he did so. Well, perhaps ‘drink’ was pushing it a bit. He preferred to think of it like the medicines of the time he had grown up – unbelievably unpleasant, but necessary nonetheless.

Well, Henry reflected as he placed the glass back on the bedside table, now his colleagues had seen him the previous night; and thanks to Lucas, they almost certainly knew that it was a date. He hadn’t been able to tell what they thought of him going on a date with a man, although he hoped that in this day and age, they would not be too opposed to the idea. That was one thing he did like about the modern age: the increased acceptance for people like him. When Henry had first lived, people like him were either not mentioned, such as in his case; or else cast out, and whispered about in the streets. Now, however, he was able to proudly say that he was bisexual with nobody batting an eyelid. Well, almost nobody.

Of Abe’s opinion, however, he was not sure. The previous night, Abe had told Henry that he did not mind him going out on a date, although he hadn’t said anything about who it was with. Henry didn’t think Abe was the type to be prejudiced in that matter, although they had never talked openly about Henry’s romantic tendencies before. Nonetheless, Henry was sure that he should have a talk with Abe at some point later in the day.

Henry glanced at the clock, realising he was going to be late for work. He got up and dressed as quickly as he could, finishing as much as he could of the drink to stop his head from pounding. It seemed that the talk with Abe would have to wait for another time.

* * *

Later that morning, Henry was just finishing the autopsy when Jo and Mike walked into the morgue and headed over to him. “What’ve we got today, Henry?” Jo asked as they neared the table he was working on.

“Nothing,” Henry said, as he and Lucas carefully lifted the sheet over the cadaver. “It seems to be a perfectly normal stabbing.”

“What, another one?” Mike asked. “Are you sure? We had one of those yesterday.”

Henry levelled his gaze at Mike. “That is my official diagnosis, Detective,” he said, his voice a tad colder than usual.

“What Mike means,” Jo said hastily, stepping between the men, “is that there’s usually something else, you know? Something strange about the victims, or the crime, one of your specialties.”

“Well, not today,” Henry said, still staring at Mike.

“Perhaps the criminals of New York are having an off week,” Lucas suggested helpfully. “Slowing down before Christmas, or something.”

“Exactly,” Jo said, stepping back and giving Lucas a grateful look.

Henry nodded vaguely, looking down at his medical instruments.

“Speaking of slowing down,” Mike said, “it’s a shame you couldn’t come for drinks with us last night, Henry.”

This time, both Jo and Lucas shot Mike stern looks, before quickly looking back to see Henry’s reaction. His head had snapped back up to stare at Mike, but his expression was neutral. “I do apologise,” he said eventually. “I would have liked to join you, but an old friend recently came to town, and invited me to meet with him.”

“That sounds nice,” Jo said. “Well, we’d better get back upstairs and work on finding whoever did this.” She indicated the cadaver on the table before them. “Come on, Mike,” she said firmly, planting a hand on Mike’s back and leading him out of the morgue before he could say another word.

When they got to the elevators, Mike turned towards Jo, his expression annoyed. “What did you do that for?” he complained. “He was about to admit it.”

“He doesn’t have anything to admit,” she told him firmly. “If Henry wants to tell us something, then he will tell us in his own time, all right?” She shepherded Mike into the lift before he could answer, and pushed the button for their floor.

Back in the morgue, Henry had finished packing up his instruments and was heading into his office. He placed the files on his desk and turned around to close the door behind him, to find that Lucas had slipped in after him and was standing just inside the door, watching Henry expectantly.

Henry sighed, knowing why Lucas was there. “Close the door,” was all he said, walking around and sitting at his desk. He folded his hands in front of him and raised an eyebrow at Lucas, who had closed the door and come back to stand across from him.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” Lucas began by saying quickly. “I heard you saying on the phone that you were going out for a drink, but I didn’t know you were going to that bar with your friend, and I didn’t know he was just a friend, and I might have slightly told Jo and Mike that you were on a date, and I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out in a rush, tripping over one another in their haste to be heard.

Henry held up a hand, and Lucas stopped speaking abruptly. Henry sighed, and shook his head. “You were correct in thinking that it was a date,” he said, then paused as Lucas gave an excited squeak.

“Sorry,” Lucas muttered.

Henry raised his eyebrow again, but continued talking. “It was a date, with a customer who came into the shop a few days ago,” he explained. “The thing was, I’d met him before, a long time ago.”

Henry proceeded to tell Lucas about how he had met Jack Harkness during the war, this time remembering to end the story before he arrived in the alley; and then again, seventy years later.

When he finished the story, Lucas was watching him with wide eyes, mouth slightly ajar. “Wow,” he breathed eventually. “When you told me you were immortal, I never realised it would be this cool. I mean,” he said quickly in response to Henry’s glare, “I never realised it would be this complicated.”

Henry sighed, and leaned forwards on his desk. “I’ve come to you, Lucas, because Abe and I are completely out of theories, and the supernatural seems to be something of a specialty for you. Do you have any idea how this could happen?”

Lucas grinned to himself, trying not to let his excitement at Henry asking his advice show too much. He sat down across from Henry, leaning on the desk and folding his hands, mimicking Henry’s pose. “Hmm,” he said. “Have you considered that they might be related? Jack could be a family name.”

“I both have considered and ruled out that possibility,” Henry said. “Although family members can look similar, it is almost impossible for them to be identical across generations, and to have two people with the same name and the same face would be too much of a coincidence to be true.”

“Yeah, that’s probably too ‘Back to the Future’ to be true,” Lucas mused. He frowned, then his face brightened as another idea came to him. “Well, if it has to be the same man, then how about time travel?” Lucas suggested. “Perhaps Jack Harkness is actually a time traveller, and he’s come here from the 1940s to look for you. Or perhaps he went the other way. Maybe he’s going to go back soon, because you’re going to tell him that you recognise him from seventy years ago, so he’ll be forced to go back to fulfil the prophecy…” He trailed off, noticing Henry’s incredulous expression.

“And do you have any realistic suggestions?”

“Says the immortal guy,” Lucas muttered, thinking hard. “Ooh, okay! How about this: Jack’s another immortal person. You just happened to meet each other twice through history, and now he’s as confused as you are.” Lucas leaned back in his chair, pleased with this theory.

Henry frowned, staring into the distance. “Another immortal…” It was a distinct possibility, he realised. It would explain why Jack looked the same after seventy years, and why he was so interested in hearing about Henry’s job, not to mention asking about an afterlife. But ultimately… “No,” he told Lucas eventually. “He can’t be. I looked him up, after the war, to see if he was still alive.” Henry’s expression hardened, a faraway look in his eyes. “Captain Jack Harkness died on the twenty-first of January, 1941 during a routine training exercise. His troop was ambushed, and he managed to save everyone except himself.” He sighed, looking down at his hand, still resting on the desk.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. A thought occurred to him. “But what if that was his first death?”

Henry’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Well, you said that when you first died, you didn’t disappear straight away, right? There was some time between you getting shot and being dumped in the ocean, and you only came back after then. Well, what if Jack died in that plane crash like you said, but then he came back afterwards?” Lucas was warming up to the subject now, waving his hands about to emphasise his points. “That would explain how he died, but he’s still here now. He didn’t die too long after you met him, did he?”

“Only a few days,” Henry said, beginning to nod slowly. As crazy as Lucas’ idea seemed, he had to admit that it was possible.

“There you go, then.” Lucas smiled, pleased with himself for having worked it out. “Jack Harkness is immortal, like you.”

“Jack’s immortal,” Henry repeated to himself. “Jack Harkness is immortal.”

* * *

“Jack’s immortal!” Henry all but shouted when he arrived home.

Abe hurried over to the kitchen door, holding a tea towel in one hand and a glass in the other. “Say what?”

“Lucas worked it out,” Henry said excitedly, walking past Abe into the kitchen. “It’s the only reasonable explanation for him existing in two different times! I don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier, actually. After all, if there was a reasonable explanation for me being there, why should it not apply to Jack?”

Abe held up a hand, still covered in a tea towel. “Hang on. You’re telling me that there’s _another_ immortal running around out there somewhere?”

“It was always a possibility,” Henry said. “Don’t you realise what this means? If there is another immortal, then together we would be able to study our condition, and perhaps even find a cure.”

“Well, if Jack is immortal,” Abe said, going back to drying the glass in front of the sink, “then hopefully he’ll be less prone to manipulation and murder than the last one.”

Henry finally noticed the less-than-pleased expression upon Abe’s face. “Are you all right?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh, fine and dandy,” Abe said. “I’m just wondering why you never told me before, that’s all.”

Henry frowned. “Why I never told you about meeting Jack? Well, I didn’t think it was relevant. After all, I’ve met many people over the years whom I haven’t-”

“I didn’t mean about meeting him,” Abe interrupted, turning back to face Henry. “I meant about…this.” He waved his hand in the air, making a vague motion with the tea towel. “This whole thing. Seventy years, and you never told me that you liked men.”

Henry nodded slowly. So that was what this was about. “I see,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry, Abraham, I should have said something earlier. But much like meeting Jack, I’m afraid the subject didn’t really come up, and it was never the right time.”

“If it had been the right time, would you have told me?” Abe’s expression was difficult for Henry to gauge, which was a rare occurrence.

“Absolutely,” Henry said without hesitation. “It’s not a secret, not nowadays at least. It is perfectly normal for someone to be attracted to both men and women, as I am, and I don’t need to hide any more. I suppose I never got around to telling you outright, though, for which I do apologise.”

Abe’s expression softened. “It’s all right,” said. “I forgive you. I just wanted to be sure what you hadn’t thought that I would disapprove, or anything like that.”

“Far from it,” Henry told him, and as he said the words, he realised that they were true. He hadn’t really thought that Abe would judge him for his proclivities: the familial bond was too strong for that. “The only thing that worried me was that you might think me insensitive, for going out with Jack so soon after...” He didn’t need to say it; they both knew what he was talking about.

Abe grinned. “That’s just as well,” he said, “because if you had said yes, you would have been cooking dinner for the next month, if not longer.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking the honour away from you,” Henry said, smiling back at his son. In that moment, he knew that whatever happened, things would be all right between him and Abe. And in the end, that was all that really matters. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, one that he had not known he was carrying until that moment.

“So,” Abe said, turning back to the sink, “you reckon that your boyfriend’s immortal? Are you sure it’s not just wishful thinking?”

Henry laughed at that, and Abe joined in, chuckling away at the sink. Both men were relieved that the conversation was over, and had gone well, all things considered. Now they could carry on and try to solve the history of one Jack Harkness, potential immortal.

* * *

“It’s a tricky situation,” Henry explained to Lucas over a body the next day. “It would be difficult to ask Jack whether he is immortal without revealing that I am. And if he is not, then he will most likely either believe me to be crazy, or else call the authorities and have me experimented upon.”

“But if he is,” Lucas said, “then there’s a chance he could be evil and try to kill you as many times as he can, like the last one you met.”

“Exactly,” Henry said, pointing his scalpel at Lucas with a nod. “Of course, the only way to check for sure – forceps, please…”

“…would be to kill him,” Lucas continued, holding the forceps in place for Henry. “And that’s not an ideal solution, especially if he is mortal.”

“You know,” Henry said conversationally, using tweezers to pull a small object from the cadaver’s stomach, “I sometimes wonder at your ability to take things in stride.”

“You mean like finding out my boss was immortal?” Lucas grinned. “Well, it made sense. Nobody could have learned as much as you in one lifetime. Besides, you weren’t exactly subtle about it, were you?”

Before Henry could reply, he heard footsteps coming closer. He glanced over Lucas’ shoulder to see Jo walking through the morgue towards them. “What’ve we got today, Henry?” she said as she neared their workstation.

“Hello, Detective,” he greeted her in his customary manner. “Do you recall the gunshot victim found in the river?”

“Yes,” Jo said, glancing hesitantly at the face of the corpse, bloated from its stay in the river. Death was never a pretty sight, especially not this early in the day.

“Well,” Henry told her, “he was carrying this in his liver.” He deposited a small object from the tweezers into his palm, and held it up for inspection.

Jo and Lucas squinted at the object. “What is it?” Jo asked after a moment.

“It looks to be a small gem of some description,” Henry said. “A diamond, possibly?”

“Pretty weird place to keep a diamond,” Lucas commented.

“Indeed,” Henry said, turning away to place the small stone in an evidence bag for further analysis.

As soon as his back was turned, Jo caught Lucas’ eye, sending him a quizzical look while nodding towards Henry. Lucas glanced at Henry to make sure he was not looking, then nodded in confirmation. Jo grinned, and managed a small fist-pump before Henry turned back around. He looked up in time to see Jo and Lucas watching him silently, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

Henry frowned briefly, then continued with his analysis. “There seems to be little sign of a struggle, although given the length of time the body spent in the river, it would be difficult to tell. I would estimate that at the moment, the diamond would be your best lead.”

“Right,” Jo said, “I’ll go and have that analysed.” She took the evidence bag Henry was holding out, making sure not to touch it where his gloves had been. “See you two later, then.”

“Later,” Lucas echoed, watching Jo leaving the morgue. As soon as she was out of earshot, he leaned forward and said, “Are you going to tell her?”

“About what?” Henry asked innocently, rearranging his tools on the table beside him. “About the three other bodies found this morning, or about my immortality?”

“No, I mean about your bo-” Lucas cut himself off. “About Jack.”

“Well, I suspect that is not necessary, seeing that you have just done so for me.”

Lucas frowned. “How did you know? You were looking away!”

“Lucas, your subtlety is a skill matched only by your ability to spy on people in a bar,” Henry told him. “Fortunately for you, I do not mind you telling Jo, as she is unlikely to be telling everybody in the station about my romantic tendencies as we speak. However, I would appreciate it if, in future, you were to ask me before revealing private details of my life to others. Does that sound fair?”

Lucas nodded, feeling ashamed. “Absolutely,” he mumbled towards his feet.

“Besides,” Henry continued, “I feel that at the moment, your time would be far better spent devising a way for me to ask Jack about his potential immortality without asking him outright. Would you agree?”

Lucas looked up, a smile growing on his face at being asked. “I’d love to,” he said, beaming.

“Excellent,” Henry said. “Let’s get this body finished, and then we can move on to the next.”

At that moment, Henry’s phone began to ring in his pocket. He immediately recognised the ringtone as being one that Abe had set up for him, so that he could differentiate different numbers calling him. “Could you finish this?” he asked Lucas. “I need to take this call.”

Lucas nodded, and Henry walked into his office, pulling off his gloves and taking his phone out of his pocket. He answered it and held it up to his ear in one swift movement, closing the office door behind him. “Hello?”

Jack’s warm voice came through the phone. “Hey, Henry.”

“Hello, Jack,” Henry said. For all the thinking he had been doing about Jack’s identity, he could feel himself relaxing at the sound of his voice. There was something soothing about the cadence of Jack’s voice, and it reminded Henry of how easy it was to talk to him, both in the past and the present.

There was a chuckle. “Right, now we’ve got that out of the way,” Jack said, “I was wondering whether you’d like to come to dinner with me tonight? If you’re not busy, that is.”

“I’d love to,” Henry said automatically, before a thought occurred to him. “Actually, no!”

“No?” He could almost hear Jack’s raised eyebrow on the other end of the line.

“I mean,” Henry said hastily, “Abe – my business partner – insisted that I invite you over to our apartment for dinner tonight.” It was a plan he and Abe had devised the previous night, as a better way to interrogate Jack – after all, as Abe had pointed out, two heads were indeed better than one. “I’m afraid it won’t be anything too posh,” Henry continued, “but Abe fancies himself as something of a chef. In fact, his chicken soup is said to have magic healing properties.” He held his breath, waiting to see whether Jack would accept his invitation. It was the first time he had invited a romantic partner around for dinner in a long time, and the first since he had been living with Abe.

There was a pause, then a chuckle. “In that case, how could I possibly refuse?” Jack asked. “I’ll see you there tonight, then. What time should I come around?”

Henry exhaled relievedly. “Would six o’clock suit you?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said.

“I will see you then,” Henry said with a smile.

“See you,” Jack said, and then the line went dead. Henry lowered his hand slowly, a small smile on his face.

He wasn’t sure for how long he stood there, but suddenly he was aware of a coughing noise by the door. He jumped, and looked around to see Lucas, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Henry said, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Everything’s fine. That was Jack, actually. He’s coming around for dinner with me and Abe tonight.”

“Great,” Lucas said eagerly. “That means you can get Operation Investigate Henry’s Boyfriend underway as soon as possible!”

Henry rolled his eyes. “While I agree with the sentiment, Lucas, could we not use a shorter name?”

Lucas furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, then his face cleared. “How about OIHB?”

Henry sighed defeatedly. “Very well. OIHB it is. Let’s just hope that all goes to plan.”


	4. Dinner party

As it happened, Operation Investigate Henry’s Boyfriend did not go entirely to plan.

The evening started well, with Jack arriving on the doorstep at the dot of six o’clock. Henry opened the door with a smile. “Good evening, Jack,” he greeted him warmly, holding out a hand for him to shake. It was formal, he knew, but he was unsure of the proper protocol, being as he was still not accustomed to the courtship rituals of the 21st century.

“Evening,” Jack grinned. He ignored Henry’s proffered hand, instead taking him by the shoulders and going for a peck on the cheek. Henry blinked, surprised, but reciprocated nonetheless, letting his hand linger on Jack’s shoulder for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Jack said, continuing up the stairs. “So this is where the great Henry Morgan lives, huh?” he said, emerging from the stairs onto the landing and looking around.

“You flatter me,” Henry said modestly, coming up behind him, “but yes, this is my apartment.”

“It’s nice,” Jack said, “but not as nice as the owner.” He turned around and moved closer to Henry, who automatically stepped backwards, but found himself blocked by the balustrade behind him. “Have I ever mentioned how pretty your eyes are?” Jack continued, staring into them.

Funnily enough, Henry found that he didn’t particularly mind being pinned to the top of the staircase, at least not by Jack. “I don’t believe you have,” he said, “although I’m very open to comments.”

“Well then,” Jack said, “allow me to correct that now.” He leaned in closer and murmured, “Your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Henry had just opened his mouth to respond when there was a cough to his left. His head whipped around to see Abe standing in the doorway to the kitchen, clearing his throat and looking amused. Henry didn’t think he’d ever leaned backwards out of a situation so fast in his life. His head jerked backwards, and he was sure he would have fallen backwards over the banister, were it not for Jack’s hand hastily reaching out and steadying him. “Easy,” he said, trying not to laugh.

“Thanks,” Henry muttered, turning towards Abe. Jack turned as well, leaving his arm draped around Henry’s waist.

“You kids having fun?” Abe asked, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that he was trying not to laugh.

Henry glared at Abe for a second, but then smiled sweetly at him, glancing at Jack. “Yes, thank you,” he said. “Jack, I think you know my business partner, Abraham M- Weinraub.”

“Of course,” Jack said, removing his arm from Henry’s waist and walking over to Abe. “Nice to see you again,” he said, shaking Abe’s hand warmly.

“Likewise,” Abe smiled. “Oh by the way, those other items you ordered arrived yesterday. They’re in the shop downstairs, you can take them later if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind,” Jack said sincerely.

“Well, you’ve arrived just in time. I’m about to serve dinner now. Unless you’re too busy,” Abe added, eyes flicking back to Henry.

“We’re fine, thanks Abe,” Henry said firmly.

Abe disappeared back into the kitchen, smiling to himself.

“Er, may I take your coat?” Henry asked, realising what a slack host he had been by not offering earlier. Although in his defence, he had been rather distracted.

Jack chuckled, taking off his coat. “That’s what I like about you,” he said, handing it to Henry. “You’re so old-fashioned.”

Henry hung Jack’s coat on the coat stand and turned back to Jack, eyeing him up and down. “You know,” he commented, “most people manage to get by with a belt _or_ suspenders. I think you’re the first person I’ve seen who wears both.”

“Well,” Jack said, “maybe I have trouble keeping my pants on.” He looked Henry up and down in the same manner. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without a scarf.”

“Perhaps I wanted something different on my neck tonight,” Henry said. Jack’s eyes widened slightly, and Henry turned away towards the dining room, smiling a little at the effect of his words. He gestured towards the dining table. “Shall we?”

“Sure thing.” Jack took hold of Henry’s hand, and together they walked towards the dining room. A minute later, Abe walked in as well, carrying a large casserole dish which he set in the centre of the table. He removed the lid, and steam rose from the contents, along with a delicious smell.

Jack sniffed the air as he sat down. “That’s beef, right? With garlic and…” He sniffed again. “Thyme?”

“Correct,” Abe grinned. “I like him,” he told Henry. “Let’s keep him.”

Jack laughed, and Henry and Abe joined in.

Not much was said for the next few minutes, as the stew was dished out and they began to eat. After a while, Jack wiped his mouth on a napkin and said, “So you both live here?”

“That’s right,” Henry confirmed.

“That’s new,” Jack observed. “I haven’t met many business partners who live together. Except maybe sleeping partners,” he added.

Across from him, Abe began to cough as he choked on a piece of bread. He took a quick drink of water, a nodded at the concerned Henry to signal that he was all right.

After watching Abe for another few seconds to make sure he wasn’t still choking, Henry turned back to Jack beside him. “Abe and my father were partners, a long time ago.”

“Business partners,” Abe clarified. “Then after he passed away, I inherited this business, as well as his son, Henry.”

“I see,” Jack said, looking between them with amusement. “So it’s like a father-son connection? That’s sweet.”

Henry and Abe glanced at each other. “Yes,” Henry said. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”

“So Jack,” Abe said, “Henry never said. What is it you do? If I’m Henry’s father, I need to be sure of your prospects.”

Henry looked sharply at Abe, but Jack merely laughed. “That’s fair enough,” he allowed, placing his knife and fork on his plate. “Well, I’ve done this and that. At the moment I’m working as an independent contractor, helping people get rid of any problems they might have. This stew is lovely, by the way.”

Abe nodded sagely. “I see,” he said, trying to look as though that wasn’t the most vague job description he had ever heard. “And thank you. It’s my own recipe, actually.”

“You’re a good cook, then,” Jack complimented him.

“I like to think so,” Abe said.

They ate in companionable silence for another couple of minutes, until Henry decided it was time to try out a line Lucas had come up with earlier that day. “So, Jack, where is it you come from?”

“Oh, here and there,” Jack said, smiling at Henry over the rim of his glass. “Nowhere in particular. So how long have you lived in New York?”

“Not long,” Henry told him, “although I’ve lived here on and off with Abe over the years. He’s the closest thing to family I have at the moment.”

“How about you, Jack?” Abe asked. “Do you have any family?”

Jack’s face darkened for only a moment before clearing again. “Not for a while,” he said, his expression inscrutable. Then he smiled. “Say, did you two see the ball game last night? That was quite something, huh?”

“We didn’t see it,” Henry said politely, “although I had heard that it was interesting.”

“Oh, it was.”

Abe opened his mouth to ask another question, but was stopped by Henry gently kicking him under the table. They had already asked enough, and the last thing they wanted was for Jack to become suspicious. Besides, Henry had noticed that whenever they had asked Jack something, he had given deliberately vague answers, and then immediately deflected attention away from himself by asking a question of his own. Whatever Jack was, he was good at evading questions.

Henry decided it best to refrain from asking Jack any more questions, at least for the time being. Instead, he steered the conversation towards antiques, a subject which he and Abe both knew about, and in which he suspected Jack had an interest, given his copious spending in the shop earlier that week.

Fortunately, it seemed Henry was right, as Jack eagerly joined in the discussion about the merits of Victorian French furniture over German furniture of that era. Henry thought Jack seemed relieved at the change in subject matter, although it was difficult to tell for certain.

The rest of the dinner progressed without incident, with both Henry and Abe deciding to leave the questioning until afterwards. After the slightly awkward start, the conversation flowed naturally between the three men as though they were all old friends. Which, in a way, they were.

Jack had just finished telling them an amusing story about a time a former colleague of his had been kidnapped by a fish when Abe stood up and began to clear the plates from the table.

“I’ll help you,” Henry said, collecting the wine glasses and following Abe through to the kitchen. He placed the glasses on the bench, glancing back into the dining room to check that Jack was still sitting at the dining table. “More questions with the coffee?” he inquired in a low voice.

Abe nodded. “You take him through to the lounge, and I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute.”

“Very well,” Henry said, tuning back towards the door. “And Abraham, if you call us ‘kids’ one more time…” He left the rest of the statement unsaid, instead walking to the dining table.

Jack stood up, looking through the window at the darkening city outside. “You have a nice view here,” he commented.

Henry followed his gaze. “Yes, it is rather, isn’t it?” he agreed. “We often eat on the balcony on summer evenings, actually.”

“Sounds nice,” Jack said. “Maybe we can do that in a few months, if we haven’t broken up by then,” he added with a chuckle, looking away from the window at Henry.

Henry smiled also, but Jack’s word choice sent unexpected butterflies to his stomach. “So does that mean that we are now, in fact, together, as it were?”

Jack grinned. “Well, I certainly hope so,” he said, stepping closer to Henry, “or else I probably shouldn’t be doing this.” He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Henry’s for a moment, before pulling back to see Henry’s reaction.

Henry stood still for a second, frowning slightly. For a second, Jack was convinced he had read the signs wrong somehow; but before he could say anything, Henry leaned forward and kissed Jack, rather less gently than Jack had done. He raised his hands to Jack’s shoulders, breathing in the scent of Jack’s musky cologne. His lips were surprisingly soft, Henry noticed.

Jack brought his hand up to the back of Henry’s neck, gently pulling their heads together. He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, and Henry replied in kind. He ran his hand across the back of Henry’s head, pulling his fingers through the doctor’s hair, an action which Henry found he didn’t mind one bit.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds, Jack pulled away, leaving his hand on the back of Henry’s head. He took a breath, grinning at Henry. “So,” he said lightly, “are we together now?”

“I certainly hope so,” Henry said, in an echo of Jack’s earlier words.

“Right,” Jack said. “Now that’s sorted, I think your flatmate is trying to tell us something.”

Henry turned his head and looked at the window, where Abe was standing in the doorway, watching them with a small smile on his face. When he noticed Henry looking at him, he quickly averted his eyes, suddenly becoming very interested in the coffee pot he was holding.

Henry smiled, taking a step back from Jack, but still staying close. “Coffee?” he offered, gesturing towards the lounge.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jack said, grinning and following Henry through to the lounge. They sat down on the sofa together, close enough that their knees were touching.

Abe followed them in and placed the coffee on the table, pouring a cup for each of them. Then he sat down in the armchair across from them, taking a sip of his drink. “How long has it been since you two met?” he asked.

“Just over a week,” Jack said.

“It feels like longer, though,” Henry said, placing a hand on Jack’s knee as he leant forward to pick up his cup of coffee.

“That it does,” Jack agreed, glancing down at Henry’s hand, still resting on his knee.

“You just look so familiar with each other,” Abe commented, “like you’ve known each other for a lifetime. It’s sweet, really.”

Jack and Henry exchanged a glance. “Yes, I suppose we are,” Jack said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Although I’m not sure ‘sweet’ is the word I’d use,” Henry said.

“Oh, it’s the word I’d use,” Abe said, pretending not to notice the stern look Henry gave him.

“This is really good coffee,” Jack commented. “Did you make this as well, Abe?”

“Ground the beans myself,” Abe said, then, “Well, not quite. But yes, it’s my recipe. Basically I get two different coffees, then blend them together in the pot. It has to be the right ones, though, or it just tastes wrong.”

“Fascinating,” Jack said sincerely, staring pensively into the depths of his coffee cup.

Henry raised an eyebrow at Abe, who nodded in response. “So, Jack,” he began to say, before he was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing.

They all looked around for a moment, before realising that the ringing was coming from Jack’s coat pocket. He pulled his phone out and glanced at the screen. “I have to take this one,” he said apologetically, standing up and walking out onto the landing. “Hello?”

Henry and Abe watched him go, before looking at each other. Outside, Jack was speaking in low tones, making it impossible to hear what he was saying from the living room.

“Great,” Abe muttered to himself, taking a drink of his coffee.

After a minute or so, Jack reappeared in the doorway, but showed no sign of sitting down. He looked at Henry apologetically. “I am so sorry,” he said, “but I’ve just gotten a call from a colleague. There’s an emergency, and they need me to be there to help.”

“What, at this hour?” Henry asked, glancing at the clock on the mantlepiece.

“Afraid so,” Jack said. “Thank you so much for the dinner, both of you,” he said, looking at Abe as well. “It’s been a great evening, and I hope we can do this again some time. But I really have to go now.”

“Well, I hope you’ll come back soon,” Abe said.

“Me too,” Jack said, sounding sincere.

Henry stood up. “At least let me walk you out to your car.”

“Be my guest,” Jack said, standing back to let him through the doorway and onto the landing.

Henry took Jack’s coat from the stand, then they walked down the stairs together to the front door. Henry opened the door and turned to Jack. “Thank you for coming,” he said, “it’s been nice having you. Here, I mean,” he added when Jack quirked an eyebrow.

“You can have me any time you want,” Jack told him, glancing down at Henry’s mouth, then back up to his eyes.

“Careful,” Henry said, “I might just take you up on that offer sometime.”

“Sometime soon, I hope,” Jack said.

“Oh, it will be,” Henry assured him. He leaned in and kissed Jack, the two of them automatically moving into a position that felt natural and comforting. Henry wrapped his arm around Jack’s shoulders, and Jack raised his hand to the back of Henry’s head, kissing him passionately. They stood like that for several moments before Henry had to pull back for air. Dying in Jack’s arms from lack of oxygen wasn’t in his immediate plans, even if it would only be temporary. He licked his lips, glancing out onto the street. “You should go,” he said, lowering his arm from Jack’s shoulders. “Your colleague will be waiting for you.”

“She will,” Jack agreed, but he showed no sign of leaving. “Thank you for the evening, by the way.”

“It was my pleasure,” Henry said, holding out Jack’s coat.

“Oh, it will be,” Jack murmured, taking his coat. He pressed his lips to Henry’s cheek once, and then he was gone, heading out the door and towards his car.

Henry sighed, watching him go. He waited until Jack’s car had pulled out from the kerb and into the traffic before closing the door and heading slowly up the stairs.

“That went well,” Abe said dryly as Henry entered the living room.

“No, it didn’t,” Henry said, sitting down on the sofa with a sigh. “He’s avoiding telling us something.”

“He is,” Abe agreed. “You just need to find out what it is.”

“It won’t be that easy, Abraham,” Henry said, picking up his cup of coffee from the table. “He was avoiding our questions at dinner, did you notice? Every time we asked him something, he countered with a question of his own, or else he complimented us on something. He’s used to being interrogated, that much is certain.”

“So we have a man who hasn’t aged in seventy years, who’s good at hiding things,” Abe said, rubbing his temples. “It’s like there’s two of you.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m dating myself? Although if I were, I’m sure my friend Sigmund Freud would have several theories surrounding that.”

“You knew Freud?” Abe asked. “Actually, never mind. But you’ve got to admit that you and Jack are very similar. There’s the not-ageing thing, and the evasiveness. Plus you’ve both got that immortal charm thing going on.”

“I am not evasive,” Henry said indignantly.

“Oh, yeah?” Abe asked. “Why are you in this flat, right here right now, then?”

“It’s a long story,” Henry said automatically.

“Case in point.”

“Well, maybe I am evasive,” Henry admitted. “But I have good reason to be.”

“Jack probably has a good reason too,” Abe pointed out. “But if you two are going to be a thing, you want to know as much about each other as possible, right? Including whatever his big secret is. I sure wish I’d known everything about Maureen before I married her.”

“To which marriage in particular are you referring?” Henry asked. “The first or the second?”

“All right, all right,” Abe said. “If you don’t want my help…”

“I didn’t say that,” Henry told him. “I absolutely believe that there is something off about Jack. However, I fail to see why we cannot just leave him alone, at least for now.”

Abe leaned back in his armchair, raising his hands as if in surrender. “All right,” he said. “All right. We’ll leave him for now. But we will find out soon, right?”

“I suspect we will have to,” Henry said wearily, “if Lucas has anything to say on the subject. He is determined to proceed with his ‘operation’, as he calls it.”

“His operation?”

Henry sighed. “Operation Investigate Henry’s Boyfriend, to be precise. Lucas has taken it upon himself to help me find out as much as possible about Jack, at any cost.”

“Operation Investigate Henry’s Boyfriend. I like that,” Abe said. “Well, as long as it doesn’t take too long. Not all of us can live forever, remember.”

“Duly noted,” Henry said, rubbing his eyes. They were going to find out something, that he knew. But what? Apart from immortality, what could Jack possibly be hiding? And did Henry really want to find out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's for research," I mutter, as I skip through episodes of Forever and Torchwood to watch Henry and Jack's respective styles of kissing. "Research."


	5. Showdown

“Over a month, and we still have no idea who he is,” Abe said. “I thought OIHB was supposed to be quicker than this.”

Henry groaned, opening the front door and stepping out onto the pavement. “OIHB? Please don’t tell me Lucas has been talking to you as well,” he said, turning and waiting for Abe.

“I’m just saying,” Abe said, following Henry out and locking the door behind him, “I don’t think you’re taking this operation as seriously as you could be, that’s all.”

“You’re right, of course, Abraham,” Henry said, sarcasm evident in his voice. “I should be focusing on interrogating my boyfriend, instead of simply going out with him and enjoying his company. How negligent of me.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Abe said, putting the door key in his pocket and starting down the street.

Henry walked with him, keeping pace easily. “I still don’t see why we need to use an acronym,” he grumbled.

Halfway down the block, a man was leaning against the wall of a shop, watching as Henry and Abe left their apartment and disappeared around the corner. When he was sure they were gone, he pushed off from the wall and headed down the pavement. He reached the door and tried the handle, finding that it was locked. The man took a small object out of his pocket and held it against the lock for a moment, waiting until he heard a _click_ before removing it and opening the door easily.

Jack Harkness placed the lock pick back into his pocket, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching before slipping inside the apartment.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Abraham,” Henry said. “I do hope we won’t be too late for the concert.”

“We’ll be fine,” Abe told Henry, walking up to the front door and pulling the key out of his pocket. “Stop worrying about it. It’s normal to forget your phone, everyone does it some…” He trailed off, realising that the door was unlocked.

“That’s funny,” Abe said, “I was sure I locked it.”

“You did,” Henry told him. “I saw you. This door was definitely locked when we left.”

Abe turned the handle, and the door swung open. He and Henry glanced apprehensively at each other, then back at the door.

Silently, Henry motioned for Abe to be quiet, and stepped through the door. He trod quietly across the hallway towards the stairs, with Abe following a few steps behind. Together, they went up the stairs as quietly as they could, being careful to avoid the creaky step halfway up.

At the top of the stairs, Henry looked around, but could see nobody else there. Abe joined him, and they stopped, listening carefully.

Abe touched Henry’s arm to get his attention. “I think I heard something,” he whispered, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

Henry frowned. “I didn’t hear anything,” he whispered back, but nonetheless began to walk carefully towards the kitchen.

Suddenly, they both heard another noise from the kitchen, as if somebody had walked into the table. Henry motioned for Abe to be silent. He pushed the kitchen door open slowly, carefully, making sure not to let it squeak. He and Abe peered around the door to see someone standing in the middle of the kitchen, facing away from the door. All they could see of him was a blue coat. A very familiar blue coat…

Henry straightened up and pushed the door open all the way, stepping into the kitchen. “Jack?”

The man spun around, and Henry and Abe could both see that yes, it was Jack Harkness. He wore a leather contraption on his wrist, and seemed to be holding it up towards them, one finger pushing a button of some sort. Henry’s instincts screamed _weapon_ , although it was unlike any weapon he had ever seen. He wondered whether it was dangerous, but would Jack want to hurt them? And if so, why?

There was a moment of silence, as both parties stood staring at each other, frozen in place. After a few seconds, Abe said, “What are you doing in our flat?”

Jack’s eyes flicked from Henry and Abe standing in the doorway, towards the open-plan living room to his left. He looked back towards them, and Henry knew what he was going to do a moment before he did it.

“Don’t-” was all Henry managed to say before Jack took off running, out of the kitchen and through the living room, towards the stairs. Henry ran after him, half a second behind Jack as they thundered down the stairs towards the front door.

“I’ll call the police,” Abe called out from the top of the stairs.

Henry skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, watching as Jack ran out the open door. “Don’t do that!” he called up to Abe, who paused.

“He broke into our flat, Henry!” Abe said quickly.

Henry dithered for barely a moment, aware that Jack was getting away. “Call Lucas,” he said finally, before disappearing out the door himself, following the long blue coat down the road outside.

Abe sighed, picking up the phone and dialling Lucas’ number. “Why can we never just call the police?” he muttered to himself as he waited for Lucas to pick up.

Outside, Henry was several yards behind Jack, but he was managing to keep pace with him as they ran down the street. “Jack!” he called out as loudly as he could, beginning to pant from the effort. “Slow down!”

On front of him, Jack glanced back for only a moment before looking ahead again. A small car pulled out of a driveway as he ran past, barely managing to vault over the bonnet of the car instead of being ploughed down. He recovered on the other side and kept running, turning a corner a few houses down.

Meanwhile, Henry was approaching the same car, which was now sitting stationary, blocking the entire footpath. Thinking quickly, he managed to place one foot on a low fence on the side of the driveway, using his momentum to launch himself onto the top of the car, thanking his lucky stars that it was a small car. He rolled over the roof and landed on the other side, pushing off the car door and continuing to sprint after Jack. “I’m sorry,” he called back, although he wasn’t sure whether the driver of the car had heard him.

Henry continued around the corner, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. He ran a few more paces then stopped, leaning one hand on a fence and looking around for a sign of Jack.

There! Several buildings down, he saw a blue coat disappearing through a door. Henry took off once again and ran towards the building, noticing as he did so that it appeared to be an abandoned factory. He had heard about this place on the news: as the neighbours wanted to tear it down, but the council claimed to not have enough money, so any progress was at a standstill.

Henry slowed down as he reached the entrance, breathing heavily after his sprint. As Henry eased open the door and slipped inside, he reflected that it was not the best place for a pursuit, especially not of one’s boyfriend.

Henry entered to find a small corridor, with a couple of doors on each side, and one at the end. Noticing that only the one at the end was open, he decided that it seemed like a good bet, and made his way towards the end of the corridor.

He was greeted by a large, empty room, with concrete walls and floor. There were several stone pillars dotted through the room, reaching from floor to ceiling. But more importantly to Henry, there was another door on the opposite side of the room, which was squeaking closed as he entered. Without another thought, Henry charged across the large room towards the door, pushing it open and running through.

He found himself in another large, concrete room, identical to the first, except this time with no other doors leading out of it. He frowned and looked around, but could see nobody else there.

Cautiously, Henry made his way to the closest pillar, thinking that perhaps Jack had hidden himself behind it. He was halfway there when he heard a voice from behind him.

“Freeze.”

Henry stopped and turned around slowly. Jack was standing behind the door he had just come through, holding in his hands what was unmistakeably a gun. “Put your hands where I can see them,” he continued, in a cold voice unlike one Henry had ever heard him use before.

Henry sighed, and slowly raised his hands. “What’s going on, Jack?” he asked, breathing heavily – the running was beginning to catch up with him.

“Oh, I think you know,” Jack said, walking slowly towards Henry. His gun hand was remarkably steady, Henry noticed, which was somewhat worrying: it meant that Jack was used to using a pistol, and was probably willing to use it again, if he needed to. Henry was determined not to give him a reason to need to.

“When I first saw you at the shop,” Jack said, “I recognised you, from a long time ago. I’m pretty sure you recognised me, too, although you did a pretty good job of hiding it.”

“I don’t know what you-”

“I’ve got the gun,” Jack reminded him, “I’ll ask the questions.”

Henry sighed, but nodded, deciding that Jack had a point.

“We recognised each other,” Jack said again, stopping his slow approach a few feet from where Henry stood, “which means we both have a pretty good idea of what’s going on here, right? I mean, seventy years, that’s a hell of a long time for a human to live without aging, right?”

Henry nodded again, his suspicions about Jack confirmed. “That is true.”

“So, who are you? Time traveller or alien?”

Henry frowned bemusedly. “What-”

“Are you from the Time Agency, is that it? Do they want this back?” He held up his wrist, which still bore the leather contraption Henry had seen earlier. “Because they’re not having it.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean, Jack,” Henry said. “Truly.”

“No more games,” Jack said coldly. “Gun, remember? Now, time travel or alien?”

He blinked. Apparently, Jack was serious. “Well,” he said slowly, “to the best of my knowledge, time travel is impossible. As for alien, I was born and raised in England. Is that far away enough for you?”

“I said, no more games,” Jack said, raising the gun to point at Henry’s head. He could now see that the gun was a relatively old-fashioned looking pistol, which looked as if it had come from the earlier part of the previous century. Rather more importantly, though, he noticed that the gun was cocked, so that it could fire at any time. Clearly, Jack meant business, although of what business, Henry was not sure. “Who are you?” he repeated.

“Why were you in my flat?” Henry shot back. A second later, he cringed internally, hoping that this would not antagonise Jack so much that he would pull the trigger.

Thankfully, it did not. “Scanning,” Jack said simply. He held up his left wrist, which held the leather contraption Henry had seen earlier. “I was scanning your place for alien tech, or any tech that seemed out of place, or out of time. I didn’t manage to find anything, though. Where is it?”

“I don’t have anything out-of-place,” Henry said, “save for some antiques, and several old devices in my laboratory.”

“Oh, your creepy basement?” Jack asked. “Yeah, I found that. Nice, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how you exist,” Jack continued. “I couldn’t find anything in your place, no tech, no cloaking devices, perception filters, nothing. I can’t work out how you did it. I would ask you nicely to explain, but I am holding a gun, which should speed matters up nicely.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Henry said quickly, frowning at the foreign words and phrases Jack had used. “I think we must have our wires crossed somewhere, but I simply have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I looked you up,” Jack said, trying a different tack. “You didn’t exist until a few years ago, when you arrived in Manhattan with a fake degree from the University of Guam. More recently, you added a degree from Oxford University, although according to their records you never went there. All these fake references, and yet you seem to be a pretty good doctor, from what I’ve heard. So how did you do it? And why?”

Henry swallowed, considering the question. “You certainly have done your research. You must have gone deep to find out that much.”

“I have a few contacts. Now stop stalling, and answer the question.”

He sighed. “It is easy enough to fake a reference,” he said, “if you know how. Same goes for creating a new identity. The main thing you need is a confidant, which I had in Abe.”

“I knew there was something fishy about you two,” Jack said triumphantly. “So, who are you really?”

Henry opened his mouth to reply when he became aware of a beeping noise coming from behind him. It began soft, but steadily grew louder, until Jack could hear it as well.

He frowned, and pointed his gun over Henry’s shoulder. “Who’s there?” he called.

There was no reply. The beeping continued to grow louder.

“This place is abandoned,” Henry said quietly to Jack, who turned his attention – and his gun – back to him. “Scheduled for demolition. There shouldn’t be anything here.”

Jack looked towards a pillar over Henry’s shoulder, from which the beeping sound appeared to be coming. This time he didn’t say anything, instead walking slowly towards the pillar, gun extended. He reached the corner of the pillar, and pointed his gun around the corner before going around himself. A second of silence, then Henry clearly heard him say, “Shit.”

“What is it?” Henry asked. There was no response. He looked over his shoulder, but Jack was behind the pillar. Slowly, Henry lowered his arms, turning around and walking towards the pillar.

He turned the corner to see Jack inspecting an object attached to the pillar. He had his wrist up, and seemed to be scanning it.

Then Henry focused on the source of the beeping, and found himself echoing Jack’s earlier sentiment.

It was, quite clearly, a bomb. A mass of wires and computer boards, attached to the side of the pillar about six feet high. To top it off, there was also a small screen attached to the outside of the wires, which clearly displayed a countdown. Henry stepped closer, and managed to see the time displayed in red blinking lights on the screen, in time with the beeping, which was still getting louder.

Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…

Henry’s blood ran cold. “Jack, we need to get out.” When there was no response from the other man, he tugged at his sleeve. “Jack!”

“I might be able to disarm it,” Jack muttered, still pointing his wrist at the device and pushing buttons. After a few moments, he shook his head. “It’s deadlocked,” he said.

Henry looked at the countdown. Nineteen seconds left.

“We need to go!”

Beep, beep, beep.

Jack shrugged off Henry tugging at his arm. “Not enough time,” he muttered. “This is a strong bomb. It’ll obliterate the building completely.” He turned to look at Henry, sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I led you in here, I…”

Eleven seconds. “No time for that,” Henry said firmly, pushing Jack away from the bomb. This time, he went with him. “You need to get into a different room, now.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-”

“I said now!” Henry tried to position himself in between Jack and the bomb. Unfortunately, beside him, Jack was attempting to do the same thing. The men wrestled for a few moments, both aware that they were running out of time.

Two seconds.

“You don’t need to do that for me,” Jack was saying, “I’m-”

Jack suddenly found himself unable to continue speaking, on account of being blasted through the air on a wave of energy from the bomb.

For a second, it was impossible to say or do anything. Henry could only let himself be thrown across the room, together with Jack and several chunks of concrete. He landed against the opposite wall with a sickening _crack_ , feeling concrete and other rubble raining down on him, followed by dust from the explosion.

It took a few moments for the worst of the dust to settle. When it did, Henry was somewhat surprised to find himself still alive, but only just. Henry glanced down at his body, but looked away again hurriedly. It was one thing to see an exposed bone on a dead body, but quite another to see it on your own.

Another second passed, and then the pain kicked in. If Henry had any energy, he would have screamed, although his breathing was laboured and his lungs felt like sawdust.

Looking around, Henry saw a blue sleeve-clad arm lying next to his own, also bent at an unnatural angle. With a superhuman effort, Henry managed to move his torso around so he could see the rest of Jack’s body, gritting his teeth against the pain. Most of Jack was obscured by rubble, save for his head and one arm, both of which were spattered with blood. His face was relaxed, his eyes staring at nothing.

Henry managed to pull himself closer to Jack, raising his good hand to Jack’s neck. There was no pulse, which Henry guessed was due to the massive concrete slab that was covering Jack’s ribcage, crushing it. There was no way anybody could have survived. Death would have been instantaneous, Henry knew, but that thought did not bring him any comfort.

Henry knew he only had seconds left. He moved his hand to touch Jack’s pale face, drawing from the last vestiges of his strength to gently close Jack’s eyes. He coughed weakly, trying to speak. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he managed to rasp out, his voice breaking on the final syllable. “I’m sorry.”

That was all Henry could manage before he collapsed, struggling to breathe. He spent an agonising few seconds waiting to die.

Suddenly, Henry awoke in the freezing water of the East River, gasping for breath. He trod water for a few moments, looking around to get his bearings; then struck out towards the shore. As he swam, he became aware that he was crying, hot tears washed away almost instantly by the bitingly cold water.


	6. Punching broken glass

Henry sat in his living room, staring into space. He barely registered Lucas wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, or Abe placing a mug of steaming hot tea on the table in front of him. His mind was full of the image of Jack lying next to him in the rubble, stretched out too peacefully in death. Henry had lost count of all the people whom he had watched die over the many years, but the experience never became any easier.

It was all his fault, he realised. Jack had become suspicious of him, and had gone into the abandoned warehouse to trap him. He should have been more persuasive, should have made Jack leave before he did. If he had never entered into Jack’s life, then he would still be alive now.

A tear dropped silently from Henry’s red-rimmed eye, which he angrily blinked away. He was not normally one to cry, but seeing Jack dead, so soon after Abigail…

Another tear fell, then another, but this time, he ignored them.

In the kitchen, Lucas stood watching Henry anxiously. “Is he going to be all right?” he whispered to Abe, who was standing beside him, also watching Henry.

Abe tore his eyes away from his father. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “He’ll move on, he always does. He has to. But he won’t necessarily be all right, at least not any time soon.”

Lucas also looked away. “I’ve never seen Henry cry before,” he commented in an undertone, remembering the phone call he had answered, barely half an hour earlier. He recalled hearing Henry’s voice shaking as he asked for a ride home. His voice had cracked halfway through the brief conversation, and he had hung up abruptly, as if wanting to keep his emotion off the phone.

“Me neither,” Abe said grimly, “not in a long time.” He looked back at Henry, who was sitting hunched over, a shadow of his former self. It was a look Abe recognised from shortly after Abigail had left, when he had walked in on his father grieving. It wasn’t the heavy drinking Abe minded, nor the other self-destructive tendencies. No, what had really worried Abe at the time was Henry’s total obsession with what he had lost, and his refusal to think about anything other than Abigail.

Abe only hoped that this time, he would be able to avoid that stage of Henry’s grieving.

The sky outside the window had darkened, and the tea in front of Henry was cold, by the time Lucas turned on the radio so they could listen to the news.

_…an abandoned factory in downtown Manhattan this afternoon. A police spokesperson has denied the rumour that the explosion was due to a gas leak, and police are reportedly looking for evidence at the site. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen two men entering the building a few minutes before the blast, although descriptions of the men are varied. Some accounts also claim to have seen one man exiting the building several minutes after the explosion, although this is yet to be confirmed. However, no bodies have been recovered from the building. As yet, no known extremist groups have openly claimed responsibility for the explosion, although a source inside the police has revealed that the ‘hacktivist’ group the Faceless are believed to be linked to the explosion. And now, the weather…”_

Abe reached over and switched off the radio. He and Lucas turned to look at Henry, who was staring blankly out the window, his face devoid of emotion.

“Henry…” Abe said. He sighed. “Say something. Please.”

Henry blinked slowly. He turned his head away from the window towards Abe, but his eyes were unfocused, unseeing. “It was my fault,” he said quietly, his voice croaky from lack of use.

Abe sat down next to him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said gently.

“Yes it was.” Henry’s eyes finally focused on him. “Jack only went in there because I was chasing him.”

“He did break into your flat,” Lucas pointed out quietly.

“If he hadn’t met me, he wouldn’t have been in our flat,” Henry said. “If he hadn’t…if we hadn’t…” He trailed off, tears beginning to prick at his eyes again. “If I hadn’t loved him, Jack Harkness would still be alive now,” he said finally, his voice beginning to crack.

“That’s nonsense, Henry, and you know it,” Abe said. Henry frowned at the sharpness in his tone, but kept listening nonetheless. “Sure, Jack only came here because he knew you. But you didn’t force him to br- to come here today, nor did you make him go into that factory. It was an accident, that’s all. Jack’s death was not your fault, you hear? Don’t you dare go blaming yourself for this as well.”

Henry nodded slowly. “You’re right, Abraham,” he said, but he sounded unconvinced. “Of course you’re right.” He went back to staring out the window.

Abe sighed and stood up. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to convince Henry of anything, not when he was in this state. He would have to try again later, when Henry was back to his rational self. Hopefully, that would be sooner rather than later.

He walked into the kitchen, Lucas close behind him. “Will he be okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Abe said at normal volume. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him for the time being.”

Lucas nodded. “I will be more than happy to help,” he told Abe. “Anything to keep Henry from going off the rails, if you know what I mean.”

Abe stared. “No,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what? Never mind,” Lucas said.

Abe glanced at the clock. “Goodness, is that the time?”

Lucas looked at his watch. “Wow, it doesn’t feel that late.”

“Would you like something to eat while you’re here?”

“If you’re offering,” Lucas said. He glanced back through at Henry, who had not moved since they had left. “He should probably eat something as well, right?”

“Right,” Abe said grimly. “Three dinners, coming up.”

* * *

Henry was not sure how long he had been staring out the window: it could have been five minutes, or five hours. He knew that at some point, Abe had placed a bowl of steaming pasta in front of him, but he could not bring himself to eat, not at the moment. Not knowing that another man was dead because of him.

Henry idly wondered what the time was, but he could not summon the energy to turn his head and look at the clock on the mantelpiece. He could hear its incessant ticking, though, counting the seconds until the next hour. Counting down until someone else was dead.

He had known that Jack would die eventually, of course. Everybody died at some point, save for him and Adam. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jack would be another immortal, but after seeing his boyfriend’s dead body, Henry had to acknowledge that this could not be true. Like Abe had jokingly suggested, it was simply wishful thinking.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

After two centuries of immortality, Henry knew that he should have known by now not to hope for anything. Death was simply a fact of life, at least for everybody except him. Everybody he loved was destined to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. While Henry always knew this in the back of his mind, on occasion that fact would come bursting to the surface, bringing with it a confusing cocktail of conflicting thoughts and emotions that left him exhausted.

Tick, tock.

How could he have ever been naïve enough to think of his immortality as a gift?

Tick-

In a sudden burst of energy, Henry jumped up from his seat and reached out to the mantelpiece, sweeping the clock off with one wild arm movement. The clock fell to the floor with a _crash_ , the glass face shattering upon impact. Breathing heavily, Henry lifted his foot and began to stamp on the broken clock, again and again and again. Half-blinded by his tears, Henry realised that his foot kept missing the remains of the clock. He fell to his knees, trying to hammer the pieces into submission with his fist instead. Glass shards began to fly, and one lodged itself into his hand; but Henry didn’t care, willing the damned clock to stop ticking, to stop counting down to yet another death.

Abe and Lucas came hurrying in, summoned by the sound of the crash. Upon seeing what Henry was doing, Abe ran over and grabbed him by his arms, pinning them behind his back so he couldn’t hurt himself – or the clock – any more. “Oh no you don’t,” Abe hissed into his father’s ear. “That clock is precious, and so are you.”

He felt Henry’s arms relax, no longer trying to escape Abe. He loosened his grasp on Henry’s hands, but kept holding them, just in case. “Why were you attacking the clock, Henry?” he asked in a calmer tone.

Henry turned around, and Abe realised that his father was crying again. “The ticking, Abraham…” he trailed off, looking lost.

Abe wrapped his arms around Henry, bringing him closer. “There, there,” he said, letting Henry cry into his shoulder. “No more ticking now.”

Henry allowed himself to be held for a while, rocking back and forth on Abraham’s shoulder. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that this was the wrong way around, but he pushed it to the side for the moment.

Hovering by the door, Lucas noticed something. “Uh, Henry? Your hand’s bleeding.”

There was no response. “Abe? Henry’s hand is bleeding.” Still no response, so Lucas tried a different tack. “Where do you keep the bandages?”

“Cupboard above the sink,” Abe said, not looking around.

“All righty then,” Lucas said, backing into the kitchen and heading for the sink. He opened the cupboard and pulled out a plastic container of Band-Aids and bandages, and took it through to the living room, where Henry and Abe were still crouched by the fireplace. Trying not to disturb them too much, Lucas was just inspecting what he could see of Henry’s hand when the doorbell rang.

Abe frowned, glancing over Henry’s shoulder towards the mantelpiece to see the time, before remembering that the clock was no longer there.

Fortunately, Lucas was there before him. “It is half past eleven,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch.

“Who on Earth is calling at this time of night?” Abe wondered aloud.

The doorbell rang again. “I can answer it if you like,” Lucas offered.

Abe nodded gratefully. “I think you better had,” he said. “Whoever it is, they seem impatient.”

“On it,” Lucas said, and placed the bandage-box down on the floor next to them, straightening up and walking out to the landing. While he felt honoured to have been called for help, a part of him was glad to leave the room – he felt like he was interrupting a private, family moment by being there. Besides, he couldn’t help feeling awkward at the sight of the normally strong, unflappable Henry Morgan, looking like a broken man. His face looked paler than usual, and his eyes had lost their shine, as though they had been hollowed out.

Lucas shuddered as he started down the stairs towards the front door. That wasn’t a particularly pleasant image, at least not where Henry was concerned.

In the living room, Henry finally pulled back from Abe, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he worked out what to say. _I’m sorry_ and _thank you_ and _I’ll be all right_ all seemed redundant, especially since he was not sure about the truth of the last one. Eventually he settled for, “Apologies for your clock.”

“It’s fine,” Abe said, “I’ve got another two like it downstairs. Although they both tick, I’m afraid.”

Henry sniffed. “I can deal with ticking,” he said, looking down. Then he frowned. “My hand’s bleeding.”

“That’s what happens if you go around punching broken glass, Henry,” Abe said gently. “Come on. Let’s take a look at it.” He picked up the bandage-box from where Lucas had left it, and took hold of Henry’s hand, ready to clean it out and bandage it up.

Suddenly, they heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. A second later Lucas poked his head through the door. “There’s someone here for you, Henry,” he said quickly.

Henry closed his eyes briefly, and Abe took that as a sign that he wasn’t ready to speak to anyone. “Right now, Lucas? Really?” he said.

“Oh, I think Henry’s gonna want to see this person,” Lucas said enigmatically.

Henry sighed, and raised his eyes slowly to the door.

Lucas disappeared back into the hallway. “Abe’s in there,” they heard him say, then footsteps walked towards the living room. Abe and Henry exchanged a confused look, and Abe began to stand up to greet their guest, whoever it was.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Jack Harkness, walking into the room as large as life.

Before anybody could say anything, Jack started talking. “Mr Weinraub,” he said, “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, not after I was here earlier. But I felt I needed to explain someth-”

He trailed off when he saw Henry, kneeling on the floor beside Abe, his face stricken. Jack’s eyes widened, staring at Henry, who slowly stood up, also staring.

“Henry?” Jack said, glancing between him and Abe.

“Jack…” Henry breathed.

Time seemed to slow down as both men stared at each other, each hardly daring to believe what they were seeing. Then at the same time, as if rehearsed, they said, “But you’re dead!”


	7. Eternity

“A new kind of immortality,” Henry said quietly.

“I’d hardly say ‘new’,” Jack said lightly. “After all, I’m older than you, remember?”

Henry laughed, placing his bandaged hand on Jack’s arm. He was aware that he had been touching Jack more than usual over the past hour, trying to reassure himself that Jack was really there, sitting on the sofa beside him. He still couldn’t quite believe it, and yet here he was, larger than life, talking and laughing as they compared stories and worked out what had happened.

“A different kind, then,” Henry said, looking at Jack’s face. He was happy and full of life, the opposite of Henry’s memory of him lying in the rubble of the factory.

“Hang on,” Jack said. “Are you seriously telling me that you die, you pop out of the river completely naked?”

“Every time,” Henry confirmed.

“Well,” Jack said, “next time you’re about to die, let me know, and I’ll be sure to stop by the East River.” He winked.

“I’ll give you a call,” Henry smirked.

“I think we tired out your assistant,” Jack said suddenly, nodding towards the armchair where Lucas had been sitting, listening to their conversation. Now, however, his head was leaning against the wing of the armchair, eyes closed, snoring softly.

“Well, it is very late,” Henry said. Out of habit, he glanced towards the mantelpiece, then looked guiltily towards the remains of the smashed clock, still lying on the floor. “Er, you wouldn’t happen to know how late, would you?”

Jack raised his left arm, opening a flap on the leather contraption on his wrist. “It’s nearly one in the morning,” he said.

“No wonder Abe went to bed a while ago, then,” he said. “I honestly hadn’t noticed that it was so late.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Jack told him.

“Or when you’ve learned that your boyfriend just came back from the dead,” Henry commented.

Jack raised his eyebrows at his choice of words. “So we are still boyfriends, then?”

“Absolutely,” Henry said, “unless you would prefer otherwise,” he added, realising what Jack may be saying.

Jack snorted. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I can’t die, you can’t die. We’re perfect for each other!”

“You have a point,” Henry admitted. “Plus, we both have that immortal charm thing going on.”

Jack frowned. “What?”

“Just something Abraham said.”

“I see.” Jack chuckled. “Immortal charm, huh?”

“So Abe believes. And it’s certainly true, at least in your case,” Henry said, looking down towards his bandaged hand.

Jack ducked his head to meet Henry’s gaze, then raised his head, bringing Henry’s head up. “Henry Morgan,” he said, “believe me, you can charm with the best of them. You got me, didn’t you?”

Henry allowed himself to smile a bit. “That’s true,” he said. “Although it could be said that you’re the kind of man who doesn’t need much getting.”

“Ooh, ouch,” Jack said, but he was grinning. “So, that’s sorted. We’re still boyfriends, even though we both died today.”

“Immortal boyfriends,” Henry said. “Together for eternity.”

“I really hope we don’t break up,” Jack said, “or eternity is going to get awkward real fast.”

Henry was about to respond when he surprised himself with a large yawn. “I think we should go to bed some time,” he said. “I’m not sure I can stay awake much longer.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine is closer.”

“Good point.”

Henry stood up, and Jack did the same, following him out into the hallway and down towards Henry’s bedroom. When they went inside, Henry glanced around, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his room, particularly the unmade bed. “I was in a hurry this morning,” he said by way of explanation, hurriedly straightening the duvet.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said, “it’s tidier than my bedroom.”

“I know,” Henry said.

“So you do,” Jack remembered. “I’ve, er, cleaned it up a bit since last time you were there.”

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” Henry said, picking up a pillow from the bed and throwing it onto the floor. He crossed to a chest and pulled out a blanket before he noticed that Jack was watching him bemusedly. “What is it?”

“What are you doing?”

“You can take the bed,” Henry said, placing the blanket on the floor next to the pillow, “and I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

“I’m not letting you give up your bed for me,” Jack said. “Look, I’ll take the floor. I’ve slept in less comfortable places.”

“Absolutely not,” Henry told him. “You are my guest, and I’m not going to let you suffer lower back pain on my account.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Jack said, stepping closer to Henry.

“I insist.”

“Well, I insist more.” Jack realised that this line of conversation was going nowhere. “Or, neither of us would put the other out if we just shared the bed…” he suggested.

Henry hesitated. “Jack, it’s been a very long day, and-”

“Not like that,” Jack interrupted. “Like this.” He toed off his shoes and pushed his suspenders off his shoulders, letting them hang down behind him, and climbed onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard. He patted the space next to him, looking invitingly at Henry.

Henry unbuttoned his waistcoat and discarded it on the dresser, sitting down on the bed next to Jack, who put his arm around him. Henry leaned his head onto Jack’s shoulder, allowng himself to properly relax for the first time in hours. Jack pressed a kiss to the top of Henry’s head, then leaned his own head there with a contented sigh.

They sat in silence like that for a while, each listening to the other’s breathing. “I still keep thinking I’m about to wake up and find that you’re still dead,” Henry said eventually.

“Same here,” Jack told him. “I couldn’t find your body in the rubble, but I had this image of it that I couldn’t get out of my head.”

“Do you imagine all your boyfriends dead?” Henry asked.

Jack chuckled, the movement reverberating through both their bodies. “Only the ones I really like,” he said.

After a minute, Henry said, “If I had been dead, you would have found me fairly easily. Our bodies were only a couple of feet apart.”

“Wait, what?” Jack said, sitting upright, disrupting their position. “You saw me dead?”

“Didn’t I say so earlier?” Henry said.

“No.”

“Oh,” Henry said, wondering why Jack was so concerned – it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen death before. “Well, I did see you. I checked whether you were alive, although it seemed unlikely. It didn’t look like a very pleasant death, having your ribcage crushed by concrete.”

“It wasn’t,” Jack said, leaning back and settling into his previous sitting position. “Believe me.”

Henry leaned back also, nestling his head against Jack’s shoulder once more. “I do.”

There was silence for a while after that, both men happy to sit in the comfortable intimacy they were sharing. Henry was beginning to think that Jack had gone to sleep when he suddenly said, “Henry?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“When I was dead…”

“Mm-hmm?” Henry said again, suddenly wary of what Jack was going to ask.

“Did you try and perform mouth-to-mouth?”

Henry raised his head. “What?”

“CPR. Did you try it?”

“No,” he said. “There didn’t seem to be much point.”

“I was right, then,” Jack said, although he sounded a little disappointed. “I can usually tell when someone’s been kissing me, that’s all.”

Henry chuckled, lowering his head. “Go to sleep, Jack.”

Jack grinned to himself. “Night.”

“Good night.”

* * *

Nearly a week later, Henry and Jack were sitting on the sofa in Henry's apartment, deep in discussion.

“Ooh, I’ve got one!” Jack said. “How about, ‘Are you a library book? Because I’m checking you out.’”

Henry pursed his lips, considering. “Too obvious,” he said. “Needs to be more subtle.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?”

“That one’s actually not too bad,” Henry said. “Well done.”

Jack mock-bowed, which was difficult from his position on the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Do you two have to do this?” Abe called over from the dining table. “In my apartment?”

“It’s my apartment too, Abraham,” Henry reminded him.

“Besides, it’s just a bit of fun,” Jack added. “We don’t need pick-up lines, we’ve already got each other.”

Abe just rolled his eyes, going back to the antiques catalogues he was poring over.

“I’ve got one,” Henry said, turning back to Jack. “There’s a shop full of antiques downstairs, but you’re the only antique I want.”

Jack shook his head. “Too original. You need more something more clichéd.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

“Something like, ‘Is your dad a baker? Because you have really nice buns.’”

Henry frowned. “Buns?”

“You know.” Jack raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Buns. Ass. Behind. Rear…”

“I think I get the picture,” Henry said quickly.

“Well, you do. Have nice buns, I mean.”

“So I’ve been told,” Henry said. “Okay. How’s this: gravity may only be a theory, but I am still falling for you.”

Jack shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know how to handle you, Henry,” he said.

“Oh, I can think of a few ways you could handle me,” Henry told him.

“Right,” Abe said suddenly, standing up and walking to the door. “I need to go. If anyone needs me, I’ll be searching for the edge of the world and walking off it.”

“All right,” Henry said, “have a nice time.”

Abe rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat, walking down the stairs and out the front door. He had no problem with his immortal father bringing his immortal boyfriend home, but did they have to be quite so lovey-dovey on his couch?

Back in the apartment, Jack was laughing at Henry’s latest attempt at a pick-up line. “Maybe try to stay away from the science,” he advised him. “Most people wouldn’t be able to see the romantic side of a Newton’s cradle.”

“But you do,” Henry said, “and that’s why I like you so much.”

“Really?” Jack said. “Is that the only reason?”

“Well,” Henry said, “that and your ‘buns’.”

“There’s a couple of other things I’m good at,” Jack said, leaning closer to Henry.

“Care to elaborate?” Henry said, leaning in also.

“Oh, I can do more than that,” Jack grinned. “I can show you.” He took Henry’s face in his hands and kissed him, pushing him backwards until he was practically lying on top of Henry. Funnily enough, Henry found he didn’t particularly mind being pinned under Jack, especially given the way he was kissing him. He raised his hands to Jack's shoulders, thankful that they were alone in the apartment...

Suddenly, Henry frowned, pulling back from the kiss. “Where did Abraham say he was going?!” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the story, or at least that part of it. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to tell me what you thought!


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